


Would You Think Me A Coward?

by imagymnasia



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Future Fic, Jousting, POV Dorothea Arnault, Post-Game(s), implied PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28375854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagymnasia/pseuds/imagymnasia
Summary: “Dorothea, my dearest, the most exciting news!” he said, setting her safely on the floor. “There is to be a tournament!”“A tournament? For what?”“Why, for the anniversary celebration, of course!”Of course—Unification Day was only a month away. “Is it that time already?”“I can hardly believe it, myself. How quickly the time passes!”“It sounds very exciting,” she agreed. Dorothea pecked him on the cheek and Ferdinand returned it, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close. “I’m happy for you, Ferdie. You work so hard. It’s about time you had something fun to look forward to.”“Thank you, my love,” he said. His exuberance momentarily tempered, Ferdinand pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, then the tip of her nose, before finally tilting her chin up for a chaste peck on the lips. Then, as if he could not contain his excitement any longer, he let her go and spun on his heel, throwing his arms wide.“Oh, I cannot wait to tell the boys! Wait until they hear their father is going to be the Empire’s jousting champion!”
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault
Kudos: 28
Collections: Sweet Like Honey





	Would You Think Me A Coward?

When Ferdinand burst through the door that day, Dorothea knew the instant he appeared that something wonderful had happened. Usually when her husband returned home, he greeted her with a kiss and started a kettle for tea (if she hadn’t already) before going to check on the little ones. Their sons, Abel and Leopold, were already two and four years old, if that could be believed, and he doted on them every day. 

Today, however, her husband strode into the kitchen like a whirlwind, dropped his things on the table and swept her into his arms with a whoop. She laughed as he spun them in a circle, throwing her arms around his neck for balance and burying her fingers in his hair, giggling harder when they nearly fell against the kitchen countertop, narrowly missing the pot of tea she’d prepared. 

“Ferdinand! What’s gotten into you?”

“Dorothea, my dearest, the most exciting news!” he said, setting her safely on the floor. “There is to be a tournament!”

“A tournament? For what?”

“Why, for the anniversary celebration, of course!”

Of course—Unification Day was only a month away. “Is it that time already?”

“I can hardly believe it, myself. How quickly the time passes!”

The tournament, he explained, had been Caspar’s idea. Edelgard had insisted that the five-year anniversary of the unification of Fódlan must be _special_ , and when she had opened the floor to her council for ideas, Caspar had been a fountain of suggestions. Half of them, according to Ferdinand, had even been _good_.

“I did not expect him to take the celebration so seriously,” he said. “Lady Edelgard was very much in favor of a joust in particular. I suppose it is symbolic, in its way—a representation of the struggle of our people against a foe whose might greatly surpassed our own, and yet we overcame! Is it not exciting?”

“It _is_ exciting,” echoed Dorothea. “Edie always did favor the dramatic. I’m not surprised that Caspar suggested it, although I’m surprised it wasn’t something a little more… rowdy.”

“He did suggest a ring-fighting contest initially, but I do not believe Edelgard wishes for any actual bloodshed and vetoed that immediately.” _That_ sounded more like the Caspar von Bergliez she knew. “Hubert suggested a joust in its place, and we were all quite taken with the idea—it is one of his better ones. And there shall be a multitude of safety precautions in place, to cut back on the aforementioned bloodshed. Oh, Dorothea, can you imagine? A joust! Right here in our fair city!”

“It sounds very exciting,” she agreed. Dorothea pecked him on the cheek and Ferdinand returned it, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close. “I’m happy for you, Ferdie. You work so hard. It’s about time you had something fun to look forward to.”

“Thank you, my love,” he said. His exuberance momentarily tempered, Ferdinand pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, then the tip of her nose, before finally tilting her chin up for a chaste peck on the lips. Then, as if he could not contain his excitement any longer, he let her go and spun on his heel, throwing his arms wide.

“Oh, I cannot wait to tell the boys! Wait until they hear their father is going to be the Empire’s jousting champion!”

“Wait—you’re _participating?_ ”

How had she not seen this coming? Of course Ferdinand would want to throw in his lot with the rest of the jousters. He was prideful, competitive, and still had the energy (and overconfidence) of a bright-eyed schoolboy half his age. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? Ah.” He must have seen the concern on her face. “You are worried I may be hurt.”

“Only a little.” Dorothea joined him at the door; her hands found the shoulders of his coat, brushing away dirt that was not there. “We aren’t as young as we used to be, Ferdie.”

“I know I am a bit rusty, so to speak. But it should not be a problem. Although it has been some time since I have seen battle, I am still the best rider in all of Adrestia.” His hand found hers and he brought it to his lips. “I shall be careful. I promise.”

Dorothea sighed. She was not as stubborn as she had once been, either; years of marriage and pleading looks and sunshine smiles had worn her down in the best of ways. “Fine,” she said, feigning resignation. “If I say no, you’ll just do it anyway.”

“Only when I know you mean yes.”

He kissed her again, laughing against the sensitive skin of her neck. Dorothea squirmed against him, her breath catching before she pushed him away in a fit of giggles. 

“ _Ferdinand_.”

“I shall not apologize,” he said, but the dark glint in his eyes belied his lofty tone. Then he was off again. “Come, now, where are our sons?”

With that, Ferdinand strode from the room to break the news, and Dorothea (long used to his erratic humors) followed with a shake of her head. The steaming teapot sat on the counter, long forgotten.

\---

True to his word, Ferdinand began training for the tournament that afternoon. Although he had not been in combat for quite some time, after a day or two of drilling, all of Ferdinand’s past experience came right back. The training yard was swiftly converted into a practice pitch. Two stationary targets now stood at either end: large straw effigies on poles, faces painted crudely upon their uneven surfaces.

Dorothea often watched him practice while the boys played in the yard behind her. Even from the sidelines and with little riding experience herself, it was apparent that her husband knew what he was doing. She could hardly help admiring his skill with every pass, or the way his broad shoulders strained beneath his plain, unlaced shirt every time he held his lance aloft. He was falling into his old wartime rhythms, and quickly.

Yet as the weeks went by and Ferdinand poured himself into his training, something sat uneasy in her chest. She kept it from him, sitting in her discomfort and smiling at all the right times to keep him from worrying; Ferdinand took no notice, too caught up in the excitement of a chance to prove himself yet again (a trait that she had come to understand, if not adore). But Dorothea remained unsettled, and the feeling grew as the day of celebration loomed closer and closer. And she didn’t know _why_.

It ate at her. Years of living on the streets had taught her to trust her gut, and her gut told her that her husband being on the jousting pitch was a bad idea. Yet as much as she had her doubts, she also wanted to trust him. If Ferdinand wanted to do this, then she would support him. He’d always done the same for her.

Everything would be fine.

\---

The day of the tournament came.

Ferdinand insisted on bringing the boys along, and the four of them spent some time wandering the streets of Enbarr. They joined the throng of imperial citizens watching the parade, strolled the roadways now lined with the vendor stalls, and enjoying the various performers on all their many stages. The Emperor had spared no expense: every street was decorated with lanterns and ribbons and extravagant floral arrangements. Groups of revellers wove in and around each other like shifting tides of color, and the wind carried with it the aroma of smoked meats and the sharp, sulfurous tang of fireworks.

The children seemed awed by the colorful banners and pulled their parents along with youthful exuberance. Abel in particular delighted in the dancing monkeys from the western isles, and they each happily devoured the sweet pastries Ferdinand purchased from a little shop along the main thoroughfare. Anxiety forgotten, Dorothea felt at peace for the first time in what felt like years. 

“Yes, yes, we shall go there next!” Ferdinand laughed, hoisting Leopold onto his shoulders as the boy pointed toward the kites whorling above the opera house in a kaleidoscope of acrobatic feats. “Do you recognize that building, Leopold? That is where your mother used to sing.”

“You _did?_ ” asked Leo, kites forgotten for the moment. “At the big house?”

“Yes,” Dorothea answered, shifting Abel on her hip. He was half asleep, his freckled cheek pressing the remains of his sweet bun into her dress. “A long time ago. Before you were born.”

“On a stage? In front of everybody?” Dorothea nodded, and at her affirmation his eyes grew wide. “ _Wooooow_.”

“People used to come from all over Fódlan to listen,” said Ferdinand. He met her eye, smiling as though they shared some great secret. “I myself was quite taken with her singing, when we first met. Why, she sang so beautifully, I thought she must be some sort of spirit, weaving magic into her song.”

“You do sing good, Mama.”

“ _Well_ ,” said Ferdinand.

“You sing well, Mama,” Leo corrected, slowly, as if testing the words. He leaned on his father’s head. “Will you sing at the big house again?”

“I don’t know, love,” she said, reaching up to wipe a bit of soot from his nose; her son made a face, but knew better than to pull away. “Maybe someday. I haven’t thought about it in a long, long—”

The sound of a bell carried over the revelry, drowning out the rest of her statement. Ferdinand grinned. “Ah, it is time!” Despite Leo’s protests, he set the boy on the ground and patted him on the cheek. “Be good for your mother, Leo, and look after your brother. I shall see you again soon!” Then he was kissing her on the cheek and ruffling Abel’s hair.

“Good luck,” said Dorothea, returning the kiss and hiding her rising apprehension with a smile. “Be careful, Ferdie.”

“I am always careful.”

In her usual humor, Dorothea might have argued; instead, she smiled and took Leo’s hand. “Come, Leo. Your father’s got to get Duchess ready for the tournament.”

“When next you see me, son, your father will be the greatest jouster Adrestia has ever seen!” Ferdinand declared. “Cheer loudly for me! I’ll hear you, I promise.” Then he was kissing her once more and disappearing into the crowd. His boastful laughter lingered, doing nothing to ease her mind.

“Mama, we should go find our seats!” Leopold tugged on her hand, jostling his brother enough that the boy stirred and groaned into Dorothea’s dress. “I want to sit up front!”

“Alright,” she said, and she led him away 

The tournament was to take place in the old arena. Once upon a time, it had been a place for men to battle with beasts and each other for the entertainment of the Empire’s elite, but the building hadn’t seen actual human combat in fifty years; instead, it served as a place for outdoor events, small festivals, and, more often of late, political rallies. Today it was transformed, the grounds below fenced into a proper jousting pitch. At one end stood the stables, where the participants readied their mounts for competition and finished their last-moment preparations. In the center of the ring, facing the pitch, they had erected the judges’ stand. It stood empty now but for a low table and three chairs; soon, the Emperor herself and two others would fill them.

Dorothea and her sons followed the other spectators into the arena and lingered at the railing, looking out over the grandness of it all. Leopold climbed atop and leaned out, his long dark bangs falling in his eyes as he scanned the floor for his father.

“I don’t see Papa,” he whined, and leaned farther as if a matter of two inches would help him better pick Ferdinand from the crowd. Dorothea caught the back of his tunic and yanked him back, settling him (and both his feet) firmly on the ground.

“You’ll see him soon enough,” she said. “Now, we should—”

“Excuse me, my lady.”

A young man joined her at the rail, entering the small pocket of space created by the three of them. She did not recognize his face and was sure she had never met him before; it was only the deep red of his tunic and standard-issue sword at his hip that gave him away as a soldier of the new empire. He bowed slightly in greeting, and Dorothea nodded in return.

“Emperor Edelgard sent me. Since the Prime Minister is participating, she wanted to be sure his family had adequate seats for the tournament and has prepared a private box for you. If you would follow me?”

The young man led them across the arena, the crowd parting before them to allow them passage. The private box lay on the opposite side and hung over the arena floor. There were several such boxes, in fact, but theirs was in the very center of the pitch—right where the action would be. It was probably the best spot in the house, short of being on the field itself. _Leave it to Edie,_ Dorothea mused. Being good friends with the Emperor of Fódlan had its advantages.

“Thank you,” she said, and the soldier bowed and departed.

“Dorothea!” A familiar voice called from the box as they arrived, followed by an equally-familiar face: Bernadetta von Varley. Dorothea hadn’t seen her for the better part of a year, but she otherwise looked much the same, even if her hair was much longer now. “Oh, Dorothea, it is so good to see you!” she cried, throwing herself at her friend and wrapping her up in a quaking hug. “It’s been so long!”

“It’s good to see you too,” said Dorothea. “Oh, Bernie, you’re shaking! What’s the matter?”

“There are just so many _people_ ,” answered Bernadetta. She stepped back, her hands drifting to the hem of her skirt and twisting it in her grip. “E-Edelgard said I was to sit here—or, at least, that’s what the guard said—but there were all these empty seats, and I was just _dreading_ what sort of person would get assigned to this box with me, but—oh, I’m so glad it’s you!”

“Edie wouldn’t stick you with just anyone, Bernie. She’s not like that. Oh—boys, do you remember Miss Bernie?” Abel stared in quiet suspicion, but Leopold threw himself at Bernadetta’s legs. “I’ll take that as a yes!”

“Leo! You’ve gotten so big!” Bernie hugged him back, the angle awkward even at her height. “You look so much like your mama, too!”

“Shall we take our seats?” Dorothea asked. “I think the competition is supposed to start soon.”

“Oh, yes! Come on, you can sit next to me!”

Dorothea followed her down the short steps to the box proper, taking the seat next to Bernadetta. By the time she settled a squirming Abel in her lap, Leopold was already trying to climb into Bernie’s. “Leopold, honey—”

“I-It’s okay, Dorothea. Leo and I are pals, aren’t we Leo?” Her son screeched a _"YES”_ with such enthusiasm that it rivaled his father’s. Bernadetta smiled and settled the boy across her legs, wincing only slightly when his swinging feet barked her shins. “See? It’s fine!”

“If you’re sure.” Abel was already sliding toward the floor again. Dorothea pulled him into her own lap, where he sat for all of ten seconds before wriggling his way back onto the floor to wander around the box. Dorothea sighed in defeat. 

“I don’t mind if Leo sits with me. So long as he’s good! If not, then the Bernie Bear’s gonna getcha!” Her fingers danced over his sides, and Leo shrieked with laughter. Abel watched all of this with a wary eye, wandering to the other end of the box to peer over the wall at the arena. 

Another trumpet sounded only a few moments later, announcing the start of the tournament. Emperor Edelgard strode onto the judge’s platform with two other nobles Dorothea vaguely recognized. Her long crimson gown brushed the floor, and on her head a golden circlet replaced the curling ram’s horns of the war. Hubert stood behind her like a tall, foreboding shadow, and Dorothea couldn’t help thinking with fondness that, despite the many years since their academy days, some things never changed.

Edelgard took the stand and raised her hands for silence.

“Citizens of Fódlan, it has been five long years since the end of the great war. Five years of uncertainty, of struggle, and of pain. But it has also been five years of the greatest victories our nation has witnessed in over a century. In the time since Adrestia’s victory, our great continent has flourished, free of the oppressive rule of the old church. In its place, Fódlan has been rebuilt into a land where all may rise above their birth; where no person is beholden to their circumstance, but may choose for themselves the path they wish to tread.

“It is on this day that we celebrate that achievement and look to the future. This tournament is a testament to that achievement: a symbol of the struggle we have overcome and the power we have to face the challenges yet to come.” Edelgard lifted her hands and turned toward the end of the pitch, her smile wide. “Now, welcome your challengers!”

Twenty-four horses bearing twenty-four riders galloped onto the pitch in a parade of color. Were it a different time, some would surely have borne the flags of their houses, crests flapping triumphantly behind the galloping horses. Instead, each raised a hand toward the crowd, waving in enthusiastic greeting to the swell of applause and cheers.

When Ferdinand and his horse entered the pitch, Dorothea’s heart took flight.

It had been immemorably long since she’d seen him in full regalia, and he wore it well. In the weeks before the tournament, Ferdinand had pulled his old great knight armor out of storage and polished it until it shone—and it certainly shone now, the sunlight glinting off its many facets like a prism. His hair, twisted into a low queue at the nape of his neck, streamed behind him like dragonbreath as he rode, beaming at the assembled crowd.

The sight of him took her breath away.

“There’s Papa!” Leo cheered, hopping to his feet in Bernadetta’s lap. He waved frantically, trying to get his father’s attention. “Papa, Papa, look! Up here!”

There was no way Ferdinand could have heard his son over the cheering crowd, but at that moment his eyes found their box. At the sight of them, his grin grew impossibly wider and he blew Dorothea a kiss. She waved back as he saluted Bernadetta and the children and then he was gone; the riders circled, passing on the other side to return to the stables, and galloped off the field.

There were three rounds before Ferdinand’s first bout. Dorothea watched with only mild interest as each pair took to the pitch. Some of the contenders were familiar: the young woman who won the first round was Linhardt’s cousin, she thought, and in the second she recognized a middle-aged gentleman from the one of the many committees Ferdinand was part of. But the contest itself failed to hold her attention. Instead she waited, her anxiety mounting, as the time for Ferdinand’s turn approached. Time seemed to crawl forward, reluctant to grant her any peace.

Then Bernadetta was grasping her arm, pointing into the arena. “Oh, Dorothea, look!”

His helm beneath his arm, Ferdinand von Aegir rode onto the field, stately and proud. This time, he did not look to their box; instead, his attention was on the other end of the pitch where his opponent—some up-and-coming knight Dorothea couldn’t name—sat atop his grey mare. The crowd fell silent for the fourth time as the judges announced the challengers, reminding all of the rules: first to knock the other from his horse, or (barring that event) best hit of three passes.

Ferdinand readied his lance, squaring his shoulders behind his shield as he readied his steed for the charge. Dorothea held her breath, the whole crowd waiting with hushed anticipation. The world seemed to stop altogether; then the opponents charged, lances aloft and horses’ hooves thundering across the packed earth as the spell shattered and all came roaring back to life.

The first tilt went easy, both Ferdinand and the young knight trying to get the measure of each other. The knight made first contact, but the blow glanced off Ferdinand’s shield and did no real damage. It still made Dorothea uneasy, but her husband merely rolled his shoulders and readied for the next pass. 

On the second tilt, the challengers clashed in the center of the pitch with a sickening crunch. The knight’s lance caught Ferdinand’s shoulder hard and nearly knocked him from his horse. Beside her, Bernadetta yelped and hid her face in her hands; Leopold leaned out over the railing to shake his tiny fist. Dorothea found herself at the rail, too; she pulled her son back into the safety of the box as she surged forward, eyes on her husband with her heart in her throat. Ferdinand righted himself in the saddle, pulling himself up at the end of the pitch and readying for a third pass. He was seated now but unsteady; even from the box, she could tell the hit had shaken more than his resolve.

They charged again, and instinct kicked in; Ferdinand steadied his lance and leaned into the blow; it struck his opponent hard in the chest, knocking the young knight to the ground. The crowd leapt to its feet in a roar, quick to celebrate—but not Ferdinand. He dismounted and approached the unseated knight; each step was slow, wary, and deliberate. Then the knight sat up and removed his helmet, laughing; Ferdinand visibly relaxed and did the same.

She could see the young knight was speaking, rubbing his back as he exchanged words with Ferdinand, but Dorothea couldn’t hear what they were saying. The knight offered Ferdinand his hand; Ferdinand stiffened, then took it, forcing a smile.

The judges declared Ferdinand the winner, and suddenly it was over. The two combatants led their horses off the pitch, the young knight bracing himself against his steed but otherwise unscathed. 

That was when Dorothea turned to Bernadetta.

“Bernie, could you watch the boys a moment?”

“Sure, but—w-wait, where are you going?”

Dorothea was already gone. She pushed through the crowd, winding her way through the spectators as she rushed to the arena floor. She nearly flew down the narrow steps when she reached them, skidding comically in the dirt when two guards met her at the door.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but the arena is open to competitors only—”

“My husband is the Prime Minister,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height, “and one of the competitors. Send for him if you must, but I need to speak with him. _Right now_.”

The two of them exchanged a look. Then, one of them pushed the door behind them open a crack and whispered something through the opening. A moment passed before the guard nodded; then he stood back and let the door swing wide, bowing low. “Jonah will take you to him, Lady,” he said. Another guard (Jonah, presumably) stood on the other side, ready to escort her to the stables.

Dorothea strode through the door, trying to temper her unease. Jonah did not seem to possess any sense of urgency, and Dorothea followed at as leisurely a pace as she could manage. When they finally arrived at the stables, she gladly waved them off. 

“Thank you, I think I can manage from here,” she said, and without waiting for a response she strode down the lane to find her husband. Duchess was housed at the very end, and by the time she reached her stall, Dorothea was practically running. The other competitors and their attendants were no doubt staring, but she could care less about appearances right now. She had to see Ferdinand. She had to know he was alright.

She found him in the stall proper, his back to the open door. He was busy brushing Duchess—who blinked at Dorothea but otherwise could not be bothered—and was so focused he didn’t hear her approach.

“Ferdie?”

Her husband whirled, smile breaking like the dawn when he saw her. Ferdinand tossed aside the brush and met her at the door, taking her hands in his. “Dorothea! Oh, did you see? I have still got it, after all!”

“I did,” she answered. Something was wrong about his eyes, his focus elsewhere. “Ferdie, are you alright?”

“Why, I am fine!” he said, his smile faltering. “A little worse for wear, so to speak, but nothing I cannot handle!”

“Ferdinand.”

“I am the very picture of health, my dear,” he insisted. “I—”

“Stop saying you’re fine.” She hadn’t meant to snap; she only meant to be firm. But she’d seen how he reacted to the knight on the pitch; how the past had seeped into his body and taken him from the present—from her. “Something’s wrong. Tell me? Please.”

Ferdinand began to shake. Tears sprang to his eyes and the world tilted; then Ferdinand was on his knees, clutching her gown and sobbing. His weight pulled her down with him, and Dorothea knelt, heedless of the dirt as she pulled him into her embrace. She didn’t have to ask; before she could say a single word, Ferdinand was whispering into her dress.

“Just like old times,” he said, his voice wry even in its brokenness. “T-Too much like, I think. One moment I was here, in the arena, and the next I was at Myrddin, and Arianrhod, a-and, and I—” 

“Shh,” she urges, voice gentle. “Stay here, Ferdie. Stay with me.”

This was something Dorothea understood well. How many nights had she woken from nightmares, plagued by the memory of bloody battles and the lifeless eyes of old friends? How many times had Ferdinand held her through her tears, even now? She would never be free of this grief, but had thought Ferdinand was made of sterner stuff than she; that, perhaps, he was not as affected, able to push aside the memories to do what needed to be done.

But Ferdinand was still grieving, same as she. His mourning just looked a bit different.

When he had calmed, Dorothea brushed back the wisps of hair that had escaped from his queue and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Oh, Ferdinand,” she said, holding him close. “There’s no shame in withdrawing, you know.”

“No—I cannot!” Ferdinand pulled away, aghast. It might have been comical, if he had not looked like such a mess. “Only a coward would walk away from—”

“And who is going to call you a coward?”

“All of Adrestia is watching,” he protested. “I cannot let Edelgard down, and if Hubert hears of it, I shall never—”

“If there is anyone who would understand, it is our _friends_.” 

“But our sons—”

“Think you are a hero,” she countered. Dorothea frowned, pulling his face toward hers and making her husband meet her eyes. “Ferdinand, look at me. No one will think less of you.” She smiled, leaned in to kiss his nose, bumped her forehead against his. “ _I_ won’t think any less of you.”

“I…” Ferdinand stared for a moment; then he relaxed into her arms again. This time, the tears were of relief, not fear. “Thank you, my love. I do not deserve you.”

“Nonsense,” she murmured. Her long fingers stroked his hair, and she pressed a smile into his sunny orange locks. “I promised you forever, didn’t I? I will always be with you, Ferdinand.”

Ferdinand hiccuped a laugh into the folds of her gown. “You are right, my dear. Of course you are. We are in this together, you and I.”

“Together,” she echoed. “You and I.”

Ferdinand stood, pulling his wife to her feet. “Together,” he said again. The far-away look in his eyes had vanished; in its place, Dorothea saw only adoration.

“What will you do?”

“I…” Ferdinand took a deep breath. “I am going to go back out there,” he said. “I believe what you said, about none calling me a coward, but I must see this through. It is as Edelgard said: this tournament is a symbol. The power to overcome, if we do not give in. How can I walk away from that, knowing what it means?” 

Dorothea smiled. “There’s the Ferdinand I married.”

He lifted her fingers to his lips and met her eyes.

“Will you cheer for me, my love?”

“Of course,” she answered. “Always.”

\---

“I’m sad you didn’t win, Papa,” Leo murmured, sighing into the soft sheets of his bed as Ferdinand leaned over him to kiss him goodnight. Abel, exhausted from the long day, was already sleeping soundly in the bed beside him. “I bet you could have beat that knight. She didn’t…” Leo yawned, snuggling further under the covers. “Look so tough.”

“Perhaps I could, on a different day,” Ferdinand agreed. He smiled and patted his son’s shoulder. “But today, she was the superior rider. We must be as gracious in defeat as we are in victory. Remember that, Leopold.”

Leo yawned again. “Yes, Papa.”

“I love you, son.”

“Love you too, Papa.”

Ferdinand kissed him once more and moved to Abel’s bed, kissing his cheek and tucking the sheets under his chin. Then he wished them both goodnight and shut the door softly behind him.

Dorothea was waiting in the hall. “I’m sorry you lost, too,” she said, slipping her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. “But I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

And Ferdinand, sore from the fall, weary of his invisible burdens, luckiest man alive, kissed her back and said, “Then that is the only award I need.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for supporting the project and for reading! As always, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/imagymnasia). Feel free to drop me a line anytime.


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